Large, White Hands
by litterlily
Summary: Ultra Magnus generally visits Swerve's bar just to listen to music. Tonight he did a little extra. Ultra Magnus/Swerve fic. Alcohol w. IDW universe. Fluff.


**A/N: **It's midnight and I'm tired.

Ultra Magnus sat at Swerve's bar, face in his servos. He slouched over and heaved his vents heavily attracting the attention of the bartender. Swerve walked over, ending his chat with the other attendee that was there. The minibot wiped at the glass in his hand and looked at Ultra Magnus with a certain fondness he knew he could show if but for an astrosecond because he knew the soldier couldn't see. He plastered on a grin, genuine with the blue mech around and waited.

"Track five, would you?" mumbled the other through his white large digits.

"Bad day, huh?" The other's reply was solely another huff of exhaust. The white mech turned around and headed towards the jukebox (recently installed for Mag's sake) and turned on the request. He strode back to the other, placed his previous cup down, and retrieved another that had been dirtied. The orange one smiled again, setting up that jukebox was the best idea he's had since he set up the bar. The moment the news got around to Ultra Magnus's audials was the moment he showed up at the bar quick enough to give Blurr a run for his money. Swerve pat himself on the back for thinking of such brilliance. Talk about easy bait for getting your cru- commanding officer to be around more often. Always was a sight for sore eyes.

"So, what happened?"

He came almost nightly. Swerve loved it but it made him feel raw. Ultra Magnus only came for the music. He didn't come for the drinks. Or the environment. Or for the bartender. And often not to talk to the bartender. Tonight though, the giant had mercy on the little white mouse and replied, "Rodimus. Drift. Cyclonus. Whirl. The question you're looking for, Swerve, is what _didn't _happen."

'Chatterbox' chuckled at Magnus's attempt at humor and looked up at the mighty mech again. Still slouched over, ignoring most everything besides the beats in the background and Swerve's pitiful small talk. The minibot swallowed.

"Want a drink?" He never asked often. Ultra's usual reply was 'no' mostly anyways so he didn't expect anything new. Worth a shot though, always worth a shot.

"No." Surprise. The shorter mech huffed lightly and picked up another glass, grumbled, and asked, "C'mon. You've had a rough day. What kind of friend would I be if I let you spend it sober?" After a short pause the bartender laughed, filling the air with something other than that music that the blue mech preferred so much over him. No, he wasn't jealous. Ultra Magnus looked up at the other and Swerve could've sworn on his life he saw a glint in those stoic, deep blue, optics. He tapped an orange digit against the glass and looked away towards a speck on the bar, avoiding the inadvertently-intimidating gaze of the other. He placed the cup down and began working on the speck he saw hoping to remove it as well as remove the crescendo of awkward silence.

"Fine. A bottle of Zatarr's High Grade. He makes the best. Smooth but stronger than the mightiest warrior."

Swerve had to keep himself from grinning from audial to audial. He speed walked back to the storage and retrieved the largest bottle of Zatarr's he could find, intended on making the mech drink every last drop. When he came back he asked, "Shots or would you like a mixer, sir?"

"Shots. It's too late at night to bother with mixers." Swerve nearly squealed. If anything were to make this officer at least see a few blurred lines, it would be shots. Quickest things to ever get a mech blasted. And the minibot shook at the idea of an unraveled Ultra Magnus sitting at his bar being open to talking about anything. And open to suggestions as well. Sure, pit, he'd never take advantage of the mech (he had the common sense to know if he were to do something like that his life would be shorter than he is) but talking to a laid back, open, slurring Ultra Magnus would be a memory he'd want to keep stored and relay for eons to come.

The shots were small, even by Swerve's standards they were small, but he didn't want to get the officer regrettably drunk. Pit, and after what happened when they went out last time game the minibot a good enough understanding of the large mech's incapability to hold liquor. Yet Ultra kept his 10 when he started to drink and proved pretty capable of being able to drink.

So the shots came. Oh, did they come. It was at 3 he heard a satisfied groan. It was at 5 he heard a slur. At 8 he heard tanks hum to the music that continued to play. Come 10 came the glance that graced his stocky orange body. And at 14..

"Nice aft."

Swerve almost dropped the bottle as he poured another shot. "E-Excuse you?"

"Sorry. M'bad. Lil' forward. How 'bout nice build ov'rall." The orange minibot tinged pink and looked down over himself before getting more coloured and mumbling a hesitant "Uhm.." and looking away. He didn't expect flirting. Not until a lot more shots, more than this small bottle could provide, definitely. He looked up and made optic contact with Ultra Magnus who was giving him another one of those looks that made his servos wring together.

"Maybe we should stop. Fourteen is quite a lot anyways," his laugh was fake but what he said was true, the larger mech was quite at his limit for tonight.

"'Das fine. M'okay with jus' lookin at you for the rest of the night." A high-grade induced smile snuck its way onto that large white faceplate and Swerve stared in embarrassing awe. It was the first time he'd seen the stuck up, stiff-necked mech smile and it was enough to knock him off his pedes. It took the orange bot a minute to recalibrate and recognize the second compliment of the night. He coughed and said, "I think Hound wants me to make him a shake or something. I'll, uh, I'll be right back." It was then that Magnus's large servo gripped Swerve's orange arm.

The minibot shook and blushed at the contact. He could feel the strength under the plating of the appendage. The intimidating girth of those pure white fingers. Swerve guilt fully ravished in the touch before turning around and brushing off the fingers, consciousness kicking him for losing the contact. The last contact of a mech he's felt in deca-cycles besides touch he's engaged. Contact with the mech that has had his spark sitting scared in his large, white hands. Large, white hands that could cover him almost completely just by gathering him. Hands that could press him to the floor without hope of moving, though he admit ably wouldn't have any hope to move. Hands that could crush his plating with such little effort. Hands that could defend him from anything. Protect him from Megatron, Tarn, Overlord, Shockwave. The names.

"W-What?" He cursed himself for the reboot in his voice. Ultra Magnus smiled again and slurred, "Thanks."

Swerve shuffled under the gaze again and replied, "What for?"

The blue mech chuckled (to which Swerve, even today, can remember) and caught Swerve's blue optics with his, "Thanks for settin' up th' jukebox for me. Thanks for playin' the music. Thanks f'r serving my drink. Drinksssss. Thanks for bein' so cute. Thanks for tellin' awful jokes." ("Hey!") "Thanks for always bein' there. F'r stuff. Thanks for listenin-inin-ininin." He hummed and looked at the orange bot's face again, his gaze having travelled _elsewhere. _Another grin at the minibots increasingly red face and shy smile. "Thanks for bein' my friend."

The smaller looked up at Ultra and grinned to himself before hiding it by looking at his pedes which he kicked nervously and giddily. He let out a small laugh, quieted again, then giggled some more. One orange leg kicked at the ground and then hooked itself behind the other leg. He looked up at the officer, blush and smile reappearing even more intensely on his face. The mech smiled back and Swerve smiling, stated, "C'mon now, Mags. Wasn't nothin'. Just doing what pals do."

"It's _Ultra Magnus, _Swerve. Not 'Mags'. I'm not going to warn you again. Do I make myself clear?"

Swerve stood mouth agape at the larger mech. "You.. you... but you were overcharged I.. wait, you... I.. frag."

"No, I am not overcharged. You are an easy mech to fool, Swerve. I didn't even shut off my fuel intake moderation chip, I'd think you'd have the brain to notice that of all things. And yes, we can."

The minibot looked comical as his jaw stayed on the floor as Ultra uncovered the truth to him. He was right he didn't turn off the chip and the bartender didn't even bother to notice, how much of an idiot could he be. And did he.. hold the phone... Did Magnus just agree to a frag with him? One he didn't even really ask for?

Swerve awoke and reset his optics only to be confronted with moving walls. Something sturdy and warm was to one side of him and he was confronted with crisp cold air on the other side. With further observation he realized he was being carried. Carried by two large, white hands. He looked up towards where the hands were taking him and saw a large sign above a miraculously large door that said,

"Ultra Magnus's Office"


End file.
